


Adequate

by Ataraxetta



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 05:05:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3516410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ataraxetta/pseuds/Ataraxetta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Captive Prince ficlets:</p><p>1. Damen & Jord, directly after the end of book two</p><p>2. Damen/Laurent: Damen figures it out.</p><p>3. Damen/Laurent: future kidfic based on a picture of my fancast of Damen in a tiara.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This series has taken over every aspect of my life. I can't stop thinking about it. What has happened to me. I have read both books so many times in the few weeks since I discovered them that it should be embarrassing. FYI it isn't even a little I am proud. PROUD! *mad rambling*
> 
> Disclaimer: Characters and universe is not mine, this is just for kicks.
> 
> Thank you to [mrsronweasley](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsronweasley) for introducing me to the books and proceeding to read every screaming email I sent her.

**i.**

 

The blacksmith Guerin's son, Rickard, lost his hand in an accident as a child and is not a soldier for that reason alone. He's young and well-built and knows his way with a sword, and though he likely detests Akielons as much as any border resident would, his expression is calm as he gazes upon the King of Akielos. Damen watches Jord approach Rickard. The Kyros of Delpha and his men have hardly risen from their knees.

"Commander?" Guymar says in a faltering voice, even as Nikandros's says, "Damianos."

The tension is dangerous. Damen regards Gymar, who is well respected among the Veretian soldiers present, and speaks loudly, like a Commander. Like a King. "These men are here at the Prince's invitation. You hold the proof in your hand."

Guymar frowns down at the signet ring in his palm uncertainly. "I...Yes."

"You serve your Prince," Damen reminds him.

Guymar's posture straightens. "I serve my Prince," he says firmly.

Damen nods, and looks to Nikandros, who is still gazing at Damen as though seeing a ghost. It takes him only a moment to find his voice. "My men know the price of rousing trouble. There will be no quarrel here."

It will have to be enough. Damen nods, and clasps Nikandros's wrist. "We have much to speak of, my friend," says Damen.

"Indeed," says Nikandros.

Damen has a servant show Nikandros and Makedon to the state room, and ignores the awed, tense stares from Nikandros's men as he weaves through them toward the gate, which the blacksmith's son has just disappeared through on horseback, a letter tucked into his belt. Jord stands tall, unapologetic, meeting Damen's eyes without fear. He is a good Captain, this Veretian armsman who has somehow become Damen's friend. Damen frowns at him. "Jord."

"This will spread like wildfire," Jord says, before Damen can get another word out. "Would you rather he hear upon arrival at Fortaine? Guion would relish the chance to tell him he fucked his brother's killer."

Damen didn't come to argue. Ravenel may be taken but Laurent has invited Akielons into their midst. Word will make its way to Fortaine in short order. He nods his agreement. "Particularly once he's been presented with his son's body."

Jord's jaw clenches, pain bitter in his eyes, and Damen grips his shoulder and squeezes. "Let me know when Rickard returns."

He doesn't let go until Jord agrees, and as he drops his arm back to his side Jord's frown deepens. Damen follows Jord's line of sight to his wrist, where his sleeve has risen up to reveal part of the golden cuff. His left wrist is bare. Jord looks exhausted. "Where is the other one?"

Damen doesn't lie to him. "Laurent has it."

Jord snorts, and rubs a hand over his face, exhausted, if not defeated. "You're a fool, Damianos of Akielos. A fool with much bigger stakes than the fool who stands before you." He straightens and looks away, over Damen's shoulder where the Akielon soldiers are making for the barracks. Unable to disagree, Damen leaves him.

 

**

 

That evening, after hours with Nikandros and Makedon and before he retires for the night, he seeks out Jord, who stands on the battlements waiting for him. Dark circles show beneath his eyes, testament to a pain Damen knows has left him gutted. Jord hands him the message Rickard returned with, his mouth curling into a mirthless smile. Frowning, Damen unfolds the note. It's only one sentence. Laurent's handwriting is impeccable.

_We are not all so blind as you to who we take into our bed._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive the entirely contrived and hand-wavy vagueness of plot used to get Damen in a room with the Regent.

**ii.**

"Where's Laurent?" Damen asked.

Jord looked vaguely surprised, and hesitated. "He didn't mention? There's something he needs, at Chastillon."

"Chastillon is in the care of the Regent," said Damen.

"Right," said Jord. "So his royal highness has gone to get captured."

Damen pinched the bridge of his nose, long-suffering. "Damn it."

He turned on his heel, making for the stables and his horse.

"Where are you going?" Jord called after him.

Damen didn't bother to turn around. "To get captured!"

**

Damen lifted his head as the door opened, the useless fury pounding with his heart reminiscent of the day he was first brought to the palace at Arles, only it was not Laurent stepping over the threshold to the opulent bedroom that was Damen's prison cell this time, but his uncle. The Regent looked no less formidable for the loss at Charcy. The scar he earned on the edge of Laurent's sword shone dully on his cheek. He was not alone, but he bid his guards wait outside the closed door, and regarded Damen quietly. Damen spat at his feet, and was promptly backhanded, a blow so hard his cheek split against his teeth, and the Regent's ring drew blood.

"Barbarian," the Regent said. He sounded amused. Damen's ears were still ringing from the blow, but he bared his bloody teeth in a vicious smile nonetheless. The Regent lifted a thick, dark eyebrow. "I underestimated you, Damianos," he said at last. "It's always humbling when a plan of my own making works against me. I should have let your bastard brother kill you instead of bringing you into my home." He shrugs. "Ah, well. The nature of risk taking."

Damen said nothing. This Veretian practice of playing with one's food before eating it was incomprehensible to him. He had been beaten, was in chains, on his knees in front of his enemy; conversation was truly unnecessary. But this was Vere, and The Regent was loquacious, and not deterred by Damen's silence. "Theomedes was an able King. A wise one. I had hoped you would be..." He trailed off without sharing whatever his hopes for Damen had been, and then shook his head, sighing. "No matter. Kastor has demanded your death, but as a tool you remain too valuable yet. You will not go to death with my nephew. You will not be harmed further. A prisoner, but a well-treated one. It could be much worse."

Damen didn't voice the plea in his head, the anger or fear or longing, but some of it must have shown on his face because the Regent looked at him thoughtfully and said, "I know you are fond of Laurent. I would let you say goodbye, as a favor from one king to another, but I fear he is indisposed this evening. In absence of a farewell, I can leave you a token."

He pulled something from a fold in his tunic and placed it in the flat of his palm for Damen to see. A cluster of fragile sapphires. An earring, identical to the one that Damen well knew was left in Ravenel. Startled, he found his tongue "Nicaise's earring?"

"No," said the Regent. "Nicaise only ever agreed to pierce one ear, no matter how I bribed him. Laurent has both. This and its match I had commissioned some years ago. They once belonged to him." He offered Damen a wry smile. "I never told Nicaise, of course, he wouldn't have stood for it. He never touched this one. My nephew was the last to wear it." He set the earring on the small table by the door, next to the jug of water.

Damen said, "Laurent doesn't like jewelry."

The Regent stroked his fingers over the sapphires, a quiet, personal expression on his face. "He used to," he said. "When he was a boy."

He left unnoticed as the bottom fell out of Damen's world.

**

He woke to Makedon and Jord hovering at his sides. His arms were free, and his head thick and heavy from drugs he doesn't remember being given. The horror of the Regent's revelation broke through the haziness, instantly sobering. Jord helped him sit up and Makedon cupped the side of his neck, thumbing over his pulse. Seemingly satisfied that Damen was well enough, he squeezed his shoulder and helped him stand.

"The false king of Vere moves North. Our arrival was unexpected. Chastillon now belongs to the Prince."

"Where is he?" Damen demanded, steady on his feet despite his spinning head. He shook the vertigo off. Jord answered before Makedon could.

"Safe. On his way to Delfeur." He nodded almost respectfully to Makedon. "Nikandros rides with him."

"Is he all right?"

Jord nodded, but his expression was grave. "As far as I could tell. He was meant to go to Gavort—" Damen's blood ran cold. "—but we arrived in time. He'd been drugged with challis. The Regent is a twisted man."

 _More than you could possibly realize,_ Damen thought. It seemed impossible that so much had happened in such a short amount of time, but as he looked around he realized that he has no idea what time, nor day it was. Jord said, "You've been out for nearly a day. Paschal says the rest probably did you good. Your eye is no longer swollen."

Makedon spoke in Akielon. "Nikandros and the Vere prince left only a few hours ago. We're to follow as soon as you are able. The keep is well fortified."

Damen walked past him to the table with the water basin and picked up the sapphire earring. "I am ready now."

**

They arrived at Delpha the night before Damen and Laurent were due to meet with the rest of the Kyori loyal to Damen. He was beloved here, as he had been in Ios, but there was no party to welcome them so late and the path to Nikandros's keep was unimpeded. Nikandros greeted them in the courtyard, and Damen allowed servants to take his horse and embraced his old friend. Nikandros thumped him soundly on the back. The light of war was in his eyes, as though he'd stepped into a cleansing fire. Damen had yet to regain his bearings since his capture. He'd spent a few hours livid with Laurent for the entire debacle at Chastillon, but that had given way to missing him fiercely, and then relentless dwelling on what he had discovered. He'd had days to dwell on how blind he'd been, on how foolish and arrogant. He'd missed every sign, and there had been, he now knew, so very many. A terrible understanding had dropped more pieces than he could ever have imagined into place.

Nikandros had a servant show him to his quarters. Damen stayed only long enough to bathe. The rooms Laurent had been assigned were not far, and Rochert and Lazar stood guard. They stepped aside as Damen approached.

"Is he all right?" Damen asked.

Lazar nodded. "Paschal has seen to him. Bruised ribs, I think." He looks Damen up and down, and then grinned. "He said you wouldn't be killed, but I had my doubts. I'm glad you’re alive."

Damen raised an eyebrow. "Thanks."

They let him inside. Vere had Delpha for nearly a century, and the architecture of the castle was intricate in entirely unnecessary ways, but its furnishings were Akielon to the core. Laurent's clothes had been draped over the back of a wooden chair, his boots lined up neatly beneath it. The bed was turned down and a fire lit in the hearth along the back wall. Damen crossed the room to the door of the bath, which had been left open.

Laurent had foregone the large tub he might have soaked in in favor of a water basin and pitcher. He stood near the wall with his back to Damen, bare body wet and braced against the wall by an outstretched arm. His hair was pinned out of the way and his fair skin was darkened with nearly-blue splotches along his right side, the kind of bruises left by fists, and he was taking great care in attempting to draw the washcloth in his free hand along his uninjured side. He was beautiful, and Damen's chest ached with tenderness at the sight of him, a thickness in his throat swelling.

Damen stepped out of his sandals, watched Laurent's shoulders tense at the sound and realized with a soft shock that Laurent hadn't known he was there. It was so unlike him to be caught unaware. Damen almost apologized, but Laurent, as exhausted as he clearly was, would not have taken it well, and Damen wasn't up for a duel with Laurent's vicious tongue. Instead, Damen said, "You're sore. Let me help."

Laurent turned his head to see him. His lips parted and Damen braced himself for a verbal flaying, but after a moment Laurent only pulled in a slow breath and nodded. At any other time, Damen would have teased him for being ungracious, or if feeling belligerent brought up the first time he'd seen Laurent naked in the palace baths, but now he understood what it had cost Laurent that day. What price Laurent had been willing to pay for an excuse to have Damen beaten nearly to death. Instead of saying anything at all, Damen unpinned his garments and let them fall.  
Laurent watched. It was usually unnerving to have that much focus on him, but Laurent's face wasn't set in its usual inscrutable expression. He looked vaguely curious, still wary because Damen had surprised him, but not as though he were seeking out each of Damen's weaknesses in order to exploit them. Perhaps because he already knew them, and had. Damen took the washcloth from his hand and draped it over the side of the basin, and pulled the pin from Laurent's hair.

Laurent closed his eyes and tipped his head back when Damen prompted to let Damen wet his hair, uncaring of the water splashing over the stone floor, and stay very still as Damen washed it. Damen was thorough, massaging soap into Laurent's scalp until some of the stiffness eased from Laurent's posture, and then rinsed it with the rest of the pitcher. He took up the washcloth again and added more soap, had Laurent turn around so that he could wash his front. It was an easy task to get lost in, to help soothe his tumultuous thoughts. Laurent softened under his hands, tension ebbing from his back and shoulders. By the time Damen had finished his back his muscles had unlocked and his head dipped. He was nearly trembling with tiredness. 

Damen rinsed the soap from his skin, dropped the washcloth into the basin and rose slowly from his knees to stand behind him. He drew Laurent's damp hair back aside to bare his neck, pressed a quiet kiss to his throat and folded his arms around him, widening his legs until his toes touched the outside of Laurent's heels. They were pressed close, and though Laurent had gone very still, after a long few moments he lifted his hand to rest over Damen's arm and leaned back into his chest. Damen swallowed, closed his eyes. It had been so long since he'd held Laurent. Damen savoured it, the feel and scent and taste of him, until Laurent moved, as though to pull away. Damen loosened his arms, but Laurent only turned in the circle of them to look up at him, Damen's broad palm sliding down his spine to settle on the small of Laurent's back.

Laurent lifted his hand, hesitated, then grazed slender fingers over Damen's bruised jaw, pushed Damen's hair out of the way to gentle over the knot on his temple where the hilt of Govart's sword had stricken him, touched the scabbed over split in his cheek. He didn't ask where it had come from. "You will carry scars from every man in my family, now," he said.

"Only on the outside," said Damen. The wounds to Damen's heart were new, fresh, grief for his father, his brother's betrayal. Laurent held no mark on his skin but Damen could envision the soul of scar tissue and still-open, festering wounds. _This game started when I was...younger,_ Laurent had told him. When he was a grieving child, his protector dead by Damen's sword.

Laurent frowned thoughtfully, searching Damen's face. Damen covered the hand on his cheek with his own. "May I stay here, tonight?"

The question was unexpected. Laurent tilted his head and drew his hand back, an elegant eyebrow lifting. "We are in your kingdom, Damianos." He said Damen's given name with a sugary lilt, not quite contempt. It would always be a struggle for him. "You can do as you please."

He pulled away, tugged a towel loose from the rack on the wall and stepped past Damen, walking away. Damen caught his wrist. Laurent had always responded to that in the past, and he did now, clear eyes moving lazily from Damen's hand on him up to meet Damen's gaze. Damen let go. "I won't unless you want me to. I am not your king. And you..."

"Are not your slave?" Laurent offered.

Damen looked down at the gold cuff around his wrist, made a conscious effort not to draw it protectively to his chest. Did Laurent know the extent of the power he had over Damen? Kastor had put Damen in chains and taken from him his name, his home, his kingdom. Laurent held his heart. He was more Laurent's slave now than he had ever been before. "Free men," Damen reminded him. "Equals. Tell me to go and I will. Tell me to stay and I will."

The corner of Laurent's mouth quirked upward. "Surely I rank higher than an Akielon."

"Shut up," said Damen. Laurent's smile widened. He wrapped the towel around his waist, and crossed to the cabinet where his neatly folded clothes lay, and stopped. The tension Damen had soothed from his shoulders returned in less than a heartbeat and his breath gave a startled hitch. Damen couldn't see what he was looking at until Laurent crouched down, and reached into the pile of Damen's discarded clothes, where the sapphire earring had fallen from one of the folds and glinted in the light. Damen's stomach clenched as Laurent picked it up and stood again.

"Did you take this from Ravenel?" His voice had gone flat, infinitely cool.

Damen said, "No. Your uncle gave it to me at Chastillon."

"My uncle," Laurent repeated.

"As a token to remember you by." The need to touch Laurent, to hold him, was nearly unbearable. Laurent looked the way he had when he'd calmly crushed a goblet into Aimeric's jaw, the way he had when the herald had pulled the bloody bag from Nicaise's severed head. Damen restrained himself. "He said they used to belong to you."

Laurent wasn't looking at him. He was smoothing his thumb over the sapphires. "They did. He commissioned them. For my thirteenth birthday."

It was oppressively quiet, but Damen could hardly hear over the painful throb of his heart. "You don't like jewelry," he said. He didn't know what made him say it. He didn't know what else to say. Laurent gave him a look that would have turned lesser men to stone.

"I used to. When I was a boy, I liked it very much." The words came out sharp, challenging. The arrogant brat prince Damen had first met. He was, Damen kept forgetting, only twenty years old. He remembered Laurent speaking of Nicaise, _When children are moulded that young, it takes time to undo._

"You grew up," Damen said.

Laurent looked away, back to the earring in his hand. Into a long stretch of silence, he said, "If my execution had gone as planned, would you have kept it? As a token?"

"No," said Damen. "I never knew the boy. I have tokens of the man, and I would hold them until I drew my last breath."

Laurent was quiet for a long time. His back was still mostly to Damen, his face shadowed. The shortest hairs at the nape of his neck were beginning to dry, curling into yellow ringlets. At long last, he said, "Are you staying?"

"If you tell me you want me to."

"I want you to."

Something unclenched in Damen's chest. This was not a discussion they would have tonight. This was not a discussion they would likely ever have at all. "Then I'm staying."

Laurent nodded, and then with an elegant flick of his wrist he tossed the earring to Damen. Damen caught it, confused. "I don't want it. I brought it in case you wanted to keep it."

"I don't," Laurent said.

Damen looked at it, innocuous in his palm, at a loss. "What should I do with it?"

"Well, "The stable boy at Chastillon never got his copper sol," said Laurent. He let the towel drop the floor, and left his clothes folded neatly on the cabinet as he left.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and sap and outrageous amounts. Far into a peaceful happy united sunshine future. Plus a baby.

iii.

 

"Behold the King your father," Laurent tells the Crown Prince of the Akielos-Vere Empire. Theo isn't listening, far too interested in tangling Laurent's hair through his chubby toddler fingers the better to chew on it, but Damen offers a bleary-eyed, decidedly grumpy glare as Laurent straightens the shining tiara he placed atop Damen's tousled curls.

"You're not funny," Damen says, sitting up. 

The sound of his voice delights Theo, who wriggles from his perch on Laurent's chest to stand unsteadily on the mattress in front of Damen, laughing sweetly. Laurent sits up to follow him, as the grip on his hair has loosened not at all. "Theo thinks I am," he says, as though that settles the matter.

Damen snorts, tilting his head so the tiara is low enough to touch when Theo catches sight of it. "God help us if our son inherits your sense of humor."

Laurent opens his mouth to argue, but before he can get a word out Theo says, "Papa!" He reaches up to grasp Damen's cheeks, his thick eyebrows very earnest the way Damen's often are. "Pretty."

Laurent chokes back a laugh, and Damen sighs, regarding their smiling Prince hopelessly. "The empire is doomed."


End file.
